


do i really need another habit like you

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: M/M, don't know what's happening just something, kind of sad?? maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:38:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The guilt was getting so bad I couldn't look my mum in the eye."</p>
            </blockquote>





	do i really need another habit like you

**Author's Note:**

> don't know what this is about!!! love this pairing though ahhhhh
> 
> comment/kudos if you think it's alright!! and the title is a karen o tune called 'rapt'
> 
> slight references drugs but not really
> 
> enjoy x

“I’m sorry.”

Matty feels sick. Sick to his bones. Like everything in his system is repelling everything he thought about the pretty boy with the curly hair and the everywhere limbs.

“It was once. I was really drunk, it was a couple of days after that fight we had in London, you remember-” He stops short. Of course Matty remembers that fight. He ran up hill and down dale looking for Harry after he’d taken one too many and left Harry by himself in the middle of Brixton while he went off with some dodgy dealer in an alley trying score something stronger. When he got home, they’d had a blazing argument, with insults and tears and glares flying everywhere. Harry left at one in the morning and told him he wasn’t coming back. Matty lasted about 20 minutes and 7 fags before he was pulling on his coat and racing out into the pissing down rain to search for him. He found him crying at the bus stop they’d first met, Harry on his way to his uni interview and Matty hungover beyond anything he could imagine.

That makes Matty feel worse. They’d had sex almost every day for 3 weeks after their first fight, Matty doing everything he could to make it up to Harry, as if his “I’m so fucking sorry babe”’s didn’t get the message across. That was some of the best sex of his life. Obviously not for Harry.

“Please Matty, just look at me.” His voice is wobbly. Like he knows he’s fucked up. Fucked up worse than ever. “I was still so angry but I loved you too much to tell you. I wish I’d never done it.” His voice cracks, he’s knows he’s done bad. “I’m so sorry, please.”

He looks at his shoes. Brown leather ones that Matty made him buy at a flea market in Camden, Harry said he had too many brown shoes, Matty said you could never get enough of a good thing and kissed him on the mouth. He thinks he might’ve been wrong about that now.

“Say something,” Harry’s crying now, hiccuped breaths and quick sniffs “Please I just-”

“Fuck you.” 

Harry nods. Like he was expecting that.

“You ruined it.”

He nods again. “I know.”

"What we have, what the fuck is that?" He's trying not to cry, trying to hold some of the dignity he had left.

"I love you."

Matty laughs, and tastes, bitterness and tobacco, a bad Dylan song.

Harry took a deep breath. "I love you. But I was still so angry, like-" He gestures up his arm and looks Matty dead in the eye. "'Fire in my veins.'"

"Don't you dare."

'Fire in my veins' was how Matty described what smack felt like the first time Harry had asked. 'Like you're slowly being filled with fire, but it doesn't burn, it glows.' 

Harry said he wanted to try it, Matty told him he was an idiot for even thinking about it. 'Have you seen Trainspotting?' He had replied, 'As much as I fancy Ewan McGregor in those jeans, love, I'd prefer it if you stayed straight edge and sane.' He said it with a laugh in his voice but Harry didn't see the funny side. He left at midnight and at 10 am the next day Matty had a croaky voiced Harry on the phone giving him directions to the hospital he was signed into, after taking too much MDMA and falling off a platform at a carpark.

'You dickhead.' Matty had told him after he'd breathed in the smell of his hair and skin. 'What the fuck were you thinking?'

Harry blushed. 'I'm not straight edge' he had mumbled defiantly, picking at an old scab the neither of them had gotten over. 'I'm cool.' Matty nearly snogged him then, in the middle of triage, in front of judgemental elderly and protective parents. 'Yes you are,' Matty said, laughing into him above his ear, 'But don't _ever_ do that again.'

That means fuck all now. Standing in Harry's flat, Matty holding the kebab and chips he'd brought home to share for tea and Harry wilting like an apology. 

Matty looks at him, really properly looks at him. The boy he thought he knew, the one that helps old ladies with their groceries and gives the customer the benefit of the doubt when they’re 40p short and lets them buy the newspaper anyway.

“What did you want to get out of this?” He’s angry, he can taste it, alongside the sadness and the betrayal; it lies there, ready to fight. “Forgiveness?”

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know. The guilt was getting so bad I couldn't look my mum in the eye."

"How could you look _me_ in the eye?" Matty snaps, his voice cracking like a thirteen year old boy. "What we have is _special_! I love you like I can’t _breathe_!"

It’s only then Matty realises he’s using present tense, a harsh indication that what was and what is are now two very different things.

Harry’s face has heartbroken written all across it. Matty refuses to feel sorry for him. Avoiding everywhere but his face he searches the room for something to occupy his eyes while he thinks. He latches on to a photoset held by a magnet on the front of the fridge. Him and Harry three months ago in a photo booth in Paris, drunk off straight vodka and unfalteringly happy.

'It'll be funny,' Harry had slurred as he dragged Matty into the tiny room

'Please babe. I promise I'll do that thing with my mouth later tonight if you do this for me.'

Matty didn't need anymore convincing, he hauled Harry onto his lap and slapped a sloppy kiss to his cheek as the lights flashed, Harry giggling and pulling at Matty's hair, muttering in gibberish sweet nothings as the bulb resounded in their eyes.

Matty thinks it was somewhere, between the vodka and the photobooth and the disaster of a cab ride, that he realised he loved Harry. He loved him like the pull of gravity, the wind of a hurricane. He loved the way he looked when he woke up and he loved the way he used his hands when he was drunk, he loved his compassion and his laugh, and he really loved _him_ , his existence and his presence. It was scary, like take-away-your-breath type fear, but he didn’t know what else to do, so he just kissed Harry until he couldn’t.

Harry did do ‘that thing with his mouth’ later that night, and Matty looked him in the eyes and told him he loved him, completely candid, all breathless and honest like he was telling a long kept secret. Harry kissed him so deeply afterward Matty didn’t know what was real, but he knew he’d remember it forever, a stain that never washes out, a scent that never quite leaves your clothes.

And that’s why this hurts so much. Because no matter what Harry says, no matter how many apologies, kisses or pills, it’ll always be wrong. It will always be the elephant in the room, the unspoken scandal, the thing Matty thinks about when Harry’s asleep. He wants to forgive him, he wanted to the moment he told him. With the red rimmed eyes and the ‘I’m so sorry’, he wanted to kiss him and tell him it was okay, they’ll get pissed and fuck and it’ll be okay, they’re okay. But it won’t be and it’s not, and it never will be.

So he does what he does best.

“I have to go.”

Harry nods. “I love you.”

There’s nothing else to say, nothing to make the moment even a little bit less sore. They look at each other again, once more, Harry’s eyes full of tears and Matty’s full of resentment. Then he grabs his coat and leaves. 

He doesn’t look back.


End file.
